Marla Sanders lives an alternate lifestyle. She’s a believer. Astrology mainly. The occult. The spiritual. Paranormal. The world’s soul. The powers that bring fantasy to life. It shouldn’t be a far stretch to believe in vampires. It really shouldn’t. Especially when the one that appears is young. Very handsome. Extremely fit. And claiming her.

HIGHLAND HUNK

Cullen MacCorrick was born to war. Fighting for an independent Scotland got him an execution sentence. Vampirism set him free. Centuries of afterlife haven’t altered him much. He’s got a perfect bachelor life. No plans. No encumbrances. No complications. A seer warned him before his capture to stay away from Stonehenge. And he did. Until…

FALL EQUINOX

Marla’s on this once-in-a-lifetime trip. It includes the inner circle at Stonehenge. On the eve of the Fall Equinox. The monolith is lit with sunset hues. The atmosphere is electric. Her horoscope foretold of a date with destiny. A new beginning. Another chance. Oddly…there wasn’t a word in there about Cullen...

He didn’t know how he regained his feet. Unbelievable pain accompanied the movement. It burned through every layer of skin and sinew he possessed. Bone-deep. The sensation licked at his strength as well as his mobility, making both questionable. Cullen lurched a step, stumbled two more in order to stay upright, stayed in that position for a moment. Then another. It looked like Alton Lang had a stay of execution. For now. Cullen wasn’t capable. He was losing life fluid. He was shaking. And damn everything, he was having difficulty drawing breath, as if he actually needed the air.

Wait a moment.

He was breathing?

None of this was possible. The world had gone topsy-turvy. A great black void was definitely coming into view about him, too. It leached through the rain-filled night to surround and then encase the monolithic structure. And then it encroached closer. It reached where Alton Lang still stood. That was another oddity. Alton hadn’t noticed anything? No one had? None of the cabbies whiling away time in their vehicles acted any different. None of the tourists huddled in groups beneath umbrellas or racing to their buses seemed changed.

Nothing looked different at all.

But it was.

And then, as if a beacon of light emanated from it, a figure loomed into the forefront of his vision. Cullen blinked against the onslaught of oblivion. Narrowed his eyes. Focused. Shoved the pain as far back into his consciousness as he could. And somehow he managed a step toward the person. Another. They got easier the closer he got. The image grew more distinct. It was a lass. In a long skirt. Her back was to him. He couldn’t tell her age. Nationality. Description. None of that mattered, either. Something about her was special. Something that brought tears to his eyes before he blinked them back with studied precision. Rainfall obliterated things like bloodied corpses and woman-tears. Cullen still refused to shed them. He’d already cried aloud. Sobs would further unman him. It took every ounce of control he could muster just to keep his legs moving.

He stumbled more than once, fell to his knees twice. Both times, he called on reserves of strength to get back up and continue toward her. He had to. There was something pulling at him. Something as unbelievable as it was inexorable. He was almost upon her when she finally turned toward him, showing that she possessed skin as clear as porcelain, large eyes of an indeterminate shade, and perfectly shaped lips that were moving.

He couldn’t hear her words. The blackness had gotten a lot closer. He didn’t know how. Or when. Everything about her was an indecipherable shade of night. Rain-filled. Pain-wracked. Desperate.

“Lass? Please? Help me.”

“H-h-help you?”

She had the sweetest voice! And her words stuttered. What had to be his heart flickered in rhythm.

“My...back.”

The last word was barely audible. He added to the frail impression by dropping to a knee. His left hand shook as it grabbed for hers. The instant he touched her fingers, he knew what was happening. He knew! The miraculous had occurred. He’d found his mate. His one and only. His true love. He’d found her...through the vast plane of time, and the amazing reach of space.

And he was too weak to claim her.

The seer’s words came to him. That’s what he’d meant? Cullen would find his one chance at happiness...only to lose it? That’s when the black oblivion, foretold so long ago, reached out and grabbed him. Cullen fell. Face down.